


Interior of House, With Figures

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Stargage SG-1
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Angst, First Time, Fuck Or Die, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-13
Updated: 2010-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sequel plus alternate ending of Paian's "Still Life With Cliche." I love that story but wanted a happy ending. So I wrote one. There is Sam/Daniel in the background of this story, because of its presence in Paian's, but you don't have to know that to read it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interior of House, With Figures

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Still Life with Cliché](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18880) by [Paian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paian/pseuds/Paian). 



Jack had turned the sound down on the little thirteen-inch television about four hours, half a supreme pizza and a third of a bottle of Dewar's ago.

He could have gone down to the basement and leaned back in the recliner and watched the big TV instead, but the basement seemed..... buried. Confining. Scary. See, here, in the living room, watching the little set he'd hefted in from the kitchen counter and attached to the extra cable jack behind the stereo, he could transfer his attention, whenever he needed to, over to the flickering blue shadows on the tall windows, and feel he wasn't buried. In the basement, he would feel crushed. Imprisoned. Here, he felt he had the option of getting up (though he was so totally glued to the sofa, carbs and exhaustion and three sheets to the wind ensuring that), of cranking open a casement, smelling the night, the cut grass, the fresh chilly springtime. That would be airy. Free. Familiar. Bracing. Homey. He had that option ready and available if he stayed up here. Even if he chose not to take it.

He sprawled in the cushions, watched the screen or the shifting blue light on the window glass, and drank scotch. The windows did give him the sense of freedom, of space, that he craved. Yet, it was a sad, inescapable fact that the Dewar's smooth bite made hardly a dent in the recent memories he was trying so hard not to relive. Trying to position himself as poised to run away from, instead of to wallow in, buried in shameful secrecy in the basement.

Today had etched him with memories that even a binge could not obliterate. Sense memories. Body memories. Memories of the pungent blend of Daniel's sweat and Daniel's crotch overlaid with the perfume of Daniel's non-AF-issue sunscreen. Touch-memories, still clinging to Jack's fingers, of an expanse of smooth skin and firm muscle -- the interlocking complex muscles of Daniel's broad back, spread under the thin fabric of a T-shirt, spread under Jack's knuckles. His knuckles had pushed and poked against Daniel's ribs, after his fingers had scrabbled, spread and clutched, desperately focused on keeping his balance, keeping it all under control, though he'd been reeling, falling, before an interior tide of lust and emotion.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut. Then he opened them and turned his head, staring blindly, for the hundredth time, at the windows of his living room.

More sense-memories: The squeeze, the sliding tug, of Daniel's asshole -- _Daniel's asshole!_ \-- clenching hard around his dick, pulling an orgasm out of him that was so deep and so wide, it had taken all the control he had not to gasp Daniel's name, not to collapse against his back, and hug him, and then pet his hair and confess.

Jack closed his eyes again, and let the tape loop of those two orgasms fade away.

On the planet, clutching Daniel's T-shirt, he'd eventually had to come back to himself, pull himself together, open his eyes and see the landscape, and so he let his body memories fade and blur into that remembered sight now -- the alien trees, the alien rocks, distant and blurry. He'd remember them forever, because they'd formed the backdrop to such an intense wash of emotion and orgasm. Everything about that planet was forever burned into him now. Everything -- the trivial and the important. Every sound, every smell, every color.

Soon the loop would start again. He'd relive it all again. Painfully planning. Painfully accepting. Trying his damndest to just fuck Daniel as gently as he could and get it over with; fuck Daniel and never let him know.

Yeah, he had to admit, the Dewar's was pretty ineffective against as a numbing agent against a memory like that. Maybe he should write a letter. Complain. Ask for a free case. What he really ought to do was put the bottle away and haul himself to bed. But. Sleep would be just as ineffective. Because he couldn't get drunk enough to not dream of making love to Daniel. This, he was sure, was a fact.

Jack sat there, telling himself he was trying to watch the television, but in actuality he was simply giving up. He was ceasing his resistance to the tape loop of sensation and regret. The loop of memory stopped and restarted, stopped and restarted, much more vivid than the show in front of him. He'd get hard, note it distantly, let it subside, then take a few more sips of Scotch, even though his lips were getting numb. The bottle was on the sofa beside him, convenient. The ice in his glass had melted, but that was okay. The Scotch had a slightly different, slightly more interesting flavor at room temperature.

The movie -- something with both Nicholas Cage _and_ John Cusack, and lots and lots of explosions and a commercial jet -- lapsed to infomercials. He didn't have the intestinal fortitude to switch to the eleven o'clock ESPN recap. He sipped scotch, and relived the tug of Daniel's T-shirt in his fist, the squeeze of Daniel's body around his dick.

There was a hesitant knock at the door.

Jack was certain who it was. He closed his eyes. His heart bumped, skipped, and settled into a regular thud at a quicker pace. Adrenaline tried to cut through four hours of Dewar's and bad television. Jack leaned forward and put his tumbler on the coffee table and slowly got up.

"Coming," he bellowed, and then winced. Daniel, he knew, was also wincing, out there on the stoop.

He yanked the door open, fight reflexes coiling untidily with fear in his guts. Daniel stood there, wearing a coat, one hand stuffed in his jeans pocket against the cold, the other balancing a pizza.

"Good," Jack said, standing aside. "You brought reinforcements."

"Um, it's got anchovies. But only on half." Daniel met his eyes, looking defiant and scared, like an unbroken horse. Yeah, this was gonna be bad. Best to ignore the potential for conversation as long as possible. Jack rolled his eyes, grateful for the old reliable pizza-ingredient argument.

"Might as well get the whole thing covered with 'em. Because you know the whole other side is still going to taste like anchovies now."

"It will not. Anchovies do not contaminate every millimeter of cheese. They're on half only. That works."

Daniel brushed past him while babbling, and clomped up the stairs and set the pizza box on the dining table. Jack followed, like the tail of a comet, he thought, dimly, fuzzily, drunkenly. Helpless in Daniel's wake. Behind him. Like he'd been on that fucking planet. He winced again. The pizza, he could see, was from the same take-out place he'd used on his way home. Figured.

He leaned a hand on the doorframe. Daniel was leaning on the table, one hand on either side of the pizza. He turned his head and looked at Jack.

"How drunk are you?" Daniel said.

"Pretty fucking drunk."

"Oh good," Daniel said. He pulled out a chair and sat down and opened the pizza box. Jack watched his mobile mouth as he lifted a slice of pizza from the side with anchovy, and bit off the tip. His mobile, beautiful mouth. What words had it shaped while Daniel came, as Jack had fucked him? Jack had made him come; Daniel had spattered the fallen alien leaves, holding his dick, with Jack's dick up his ass. What had Daniel wanted to say in those moments? Jack shook his head, trying to clear it and failing. Daniel had said something out loud, sitting there eating pizza, and he should answer.

Jack grabbed his brain mentally with both hands and said, "Why is that good, exactly?"

Daniel turned toward him, gesturing in a vaguely circular manner next to his head. Jack knew it meant, _"Could I get something to drink, here?"_

Now that he had some company, he found, he could brave the weighty fearsome depths of the basement. He turned, found the basement door, clattered unsteadily down the stairs, and brought back a bottle of pinot noir. He went into the kitchen and found a tumbler and a corkscrew. He brought them to the table and plunked them down beside Daniel, who was consuming his second slice. Daniel never ate the crust. The crust was sitting there on the lid of the box. Wasteful. Jack picked up Daniel's crust. Gnawing on it and wincing at the anchovy residue, Jack fetched his glass and the Scotch from the living room and came back and sat down, just around the corner of the dining table from Daniel, and watched him put away a total of four pieces of pizza and a big glass of the red wine. To keep him company and soak up some scotch, Jack ate one piece of the non-anchovy side. He ate the crust, too. They argued about pizza crusts.

A silence fell as Daniel shoved the cork back in the bottle and looked at Jack. The defiance was gone, replaced by something quieter but just as indomitable. The fear was still there, too, back behind the ... indomitable-ness. Jack winced.

When Daniel spoke, it was soft but insistent. "We're going to crash now. Just crash. In your bed."

"Okay," Jack said. It seemed easiest.

Daniel stood up. He wasn't drunk. But Jack was. Jack followed him unsteadily down the hall in the dark. In Jack's bedroom, they both fell onto the bed. They just lay there, on top of the covers. The room was warm; not stuffy, but pleasant. Jack rolled to his back; Daniel was lying on his side. They got quiet, and soon Jack could feel his breath, puffing against the side of Jack's face. The television was still on in the living room, Jack was pretty sure, but the sound was down so he couldn't be absolutely certain. Jack made himself wait until he felt Daniel's hand come to rest gently on his chest before he exhaled and reached out to grip Daniel's shoulder. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, Daniel's warm bicep cupped under his palm.

He slept all night and woke up when it was full daylight, aware of his headache, of the need to piss, of the vague burn of dehydration, and most of all aware of Daniel's arms around his middle, Daniel's warm thighs and spectacular hardon pressed against his butt. Daniel was still asleep, heavy and relaxed with the total boneless unconcern of exhaustion. He'd been working on some urgent translations for SG-7 before their trip to the _Planet of Fuck or Die,_ and Jack knew that he had also pulled at least one all-nighter earlier in the week.

Jack lay there, needing to piss but extremely reluctant to get up and end the moment.

He had no idea why Daniel had wanted to barge in the night before and snuggle up. Daniel had to know it would lead to a morning like this. What was Daniel thinking.

Under the circumstances, he supposed he could guess at a few reasons why it was possible that Daniel had barged in, had wanted to sleep in the same bed with Jack, but he had nothing that would really rise to the level of complexity that would merit the term "theory."

Hangover aside, embarrassment aside, worry aside, Daniel was here. Daniel was relaxed and real and asleep and thus not arguing with him and Daniel was touching him. True, he was asleep while he was doing it, which called into question the whole consent thing, once again, but Daniel had, at least, indisputably, climbed into bed with Jack, with resultant cuddling. And, this was, Jack had to admit, good.

Very good. Too good. Dangerously good.

Maybe Daniel would wake up soon and roll away. But in the meantime? Jack decided that nothing about this was going to stop him from trying to steal a few more seconds of this warmth, this closeness. It was too good and it couldn't last and it would be very soon that he'd suck it up and pick a way of deflecting Daniel's questions. Because of one thing was certain: Daniel would have questions. Daniel would need to PROCESS. Daniel would want CLOSURE.

Daniel, broad-minded anthropologist that he was, had accepted what had happened to them on the planet, and he had come over here to re-establish their friendship and prove that their ability to touch each other, to be friends with each other, wasn't ruined. So. In a few minutes, so very few, once out of this warm bed and sitting together over a pot of strong coffee, Jack would have to either cut him off or deflect him. Jack began planning how to do that, planning, there in the back of his mind that wasn't occupied with the need to piss, or with the deep and denied need to store up this feeling of warmth and skin enfolded in the warm night-smell of Daniel's body, so that he could keep it and treasure it and take it out and think about it later. When Daniel was gone. And he was alone again.

Yeah, he could deflect Daniel's looming debrief/processing/dialogue. And, he decided, in addition to coffee, breakfast would help. His approach should be either Matter-of-Fact Stalwart Friendship, or Embarrassed Silent Duty -- and come to think of it, some combination of the two would probably be best. Keep the genius here off balance as long as possible.

Daniel was so warm, so heavy, so big, fitted against his spine like he had always slept there. Jack frowned, pushing away the pain of regret. _Son of a bitch._

He'd get up in a moment and pee and make some coffee for Sleeping Beauty and get on with the heart-to-heart Daniel would insist on instead of the formal debrief that concealed more than it revealed that Hammond had given them cover for.

But for just a few more seconds....Daniel spoke, softly suddenly, but it surprised Jack. Daniel really had felt asleep to him. Jack didn't flinch at the determined, calm voice, but it struck his ear forcefully, as if Daniel had yelled.

"Sam and I are pretty much okay. If you were wondering."

Jack switched gears abruptly, scrabbling around for something to say, not wanting to be thought of as having been at a loss. Not wanting Daniel to know how long he'd lain there awake. But Daniel had fooled him. Daniel had been awake longer. Slick bastard.... Daniel. Had had to... do that with him. Had had to do that with Sam. Jack's mind shied away, relentlessly, from the Sam and Daniel thing; and then away, sharply, from his intense memories of being with Daniel on that planet. He hauled himself back to the C.O. Dutiful. Embarrassed. Silent.

Jack said, "You two talked." He didn't move. He didn't shift his hips away from Daniel's morning boner. Daniel didn't move either. He held on to Jack and was still. Daniel was relaxed. Jack thought about his breathing, about Daniel's warmth, Daniel's strength, and waited.

"Yes."

They both waited. Jack felt like Daniel was waiting for him to say something. But he had nothing to say.

Daniel cleared his throat. He still hadn't moved away. If anything, he'd moved a little close, pressed a little more firmly against Jack's butt. "So," Daniel said, his voice getting a little lower, a little quieter, "are you and I pretty much okay?"

"Sure, Daniel." Jack patted the forearm that was lodged under his ribs and prepared to pull away and get up. "It kinda defined no-win situation, but we got through it. Nobody died. You know?"

But Daniel was hanging on, not letting him get up. He didn't seem to be the least bit concerned that he was still pressed against Jack's back, under the covers with him (when in the night had that happened? Jack had been drunk. Very drunk.). And Daniel was definitely still hard.

"Just wait," Daniel said. "Don't get up yet."

"Daniel," Jack said. Daniel was poised, waiting for whatever Jack would say -- Jack felt it. What might Jack say, into that hushed, receptive silence? Jack continued, "I really gotta piss."

"Oh," Daniel said. "Sorry." And he let his hands fall away, and Jack rolled out of bed and got up and went to the bathroom. While he was there, he brushed his teeth. When he came back into the bedroom, Daniel was still in bed, waiting for him. Jack turned, ready to suggest breakfast and a shower, and he reached for the knob of the drawer that held his underwear, but Daniel said, "Would you just come back to bed for a minute?"

Jack froze, his hand on the knob. He stiffly turned, just his head. That look again -- scared and defiant.

"I was drunk last night," Jack said. "I didn't mean to drag you into bed."

"You didn't drag me into bed. It was my idea."

"Whatever."

"I have a couple more things to say to you and I'd rather say them from here. To the back of your neck, actually."

Jack waited. He knew that this was the turning point. If he got back into that bed, all bets were off. He closed his eyes. No. This wasn't the turning point. The turning point had already happened, back on that planet, when Daniel and Carter were arguing about who would be the one to have sex twice. This was just the salvage operation.

Jack, without opening his eyes, ducked his head and paced back over to the bed. He looked at the edge of the mattress, not at Daniel.

He lay on his side, turning his back to Daniel, and waited patiently while Daniel fit his long, warm, muscular self against Jack's back. Knees to knees. Groin to ass. Ribs to ribs. His dick started to swell.

"I can't believe you want to talk about this before coffee."

Daniel chuckled. Then he got quiet. "This is our one chance to handle this, and you know it."

"Easy on the puns there, big fella."

Daniel inhaled, and Jack felt his face against Jack's neck. Daniel was right. Reluctant as Jack had been to do this, it was definitely easier to talk this way. It also felt way, way too wonderful.

"Here's what I wonder. And I need you to tell me the truth, regardless of the military rules about this. I wonder why you were so insistent that I get off."

"Like I told you at the time -- it was bad enough as it was, but it was gonna seem even more like rape if you couldn't."

Daniel was quiet. "Okay. I'm gonna quit asking you questions now. I'm just going to tell you, and I need you to know that I'm willing to leave the team, ask for reassign--"

"What?" Jack demanded, and Daniel was pulling away, pushing against Jack's ribs with one hand to get some space between them, and Jack reached up and put a flat hand over Daniel's to stop him, because the very idea of Daniel resigning again, leaving SG-1 over this... No. Just, no.

"If you can't work with me now, Jack. That's really what I'm worried about." Daniel had quit moving backward. "That and the fact that us having had sex is going to make it very difficult for me to cover up the fact that I'm deeply attached to you and quite attracted to you. I thought, last night, before I came over, that I could let it go without talking about it, but I can't. I need to know that you won't ... turn on me ... over this. That it won't make you hate me."

"Attracted to me."

"That's why I, uh, got off. Why the circumstances were awful ... but the act itself was not. For me."

He had Daniel's suddenly cool hand under his, and so he tugged on it, drawing it around himself and holding on, to keep Daniel from moving away.

"Forgive me? If you can?" Daniel was saying. Jack held his arm tighter around his middle.

"There's nothing to forgive, Daniel -- God. I could never hate you. Want to rip you a new one, yes, but I could never hate you."

"Well, that's good, then." Daniel was quiet, waiting again. Jack settled his arms a little more closely around Daniel's arms and cleared his throat.

"And the attraction thing.... I, uh, I don't mind about that. Because it's mutual."

He felt as much as heard Daniel's quick intake of breath, Daniel being plastered so close against him.

"But--" Daniel began. "But you never..."

"Could say the same about you. And you have less obligation to hide it, you know? I had no idea. None."

Daniel was shaking now, and it took Jack a minute to recognize that it was with laughter. He relaxed. He closed his eyes, and immediately there leaped into his memory the sight of Daniel, bare-assed, bare-legged, standing there in front of him, ready. And apparently a little bit more willing than Jack had realized at the time.

Relief flooded him, relief and a wash of tightly-clamped emotion, boiling out, now that the walls he had always carefully barricaded it behind had disappeared. Things he didn't have to try so hard not feel, not to want. At least for now.

_Daniel._ Jack squeezed him a little tighter.

Christ, this opened a whole new can of worms.

"Jack," Daniel said softly, mouth still against his back. "If you would roll over, what I'd like to do now is kiss you."

Jack inhaled. Too much, too fast. But he felt he owed Daniel now. Wanted to do something to take away the sting of what they'd had to do back on the planet. So he did. He rolled over, and Daniel kept his arm around him, and then they were face to face, eye to eye, in Jack's bed. Daniel closed his eyes and tilted his head and kissed Jack.

Carefully. Tenderly. The he pulled back and looked Jack in the eye again.

"Boy, did we start in the wrong place, or what," Daniel said. Jack raised a hand and cupped Daniel's cheek.

"All the reasons I could never tell you are still there," Jack said. "The genie's out of the bottle, but..." Daniel's face had taken on an expression of sad regret, and he looked away, down between them. Jack couldn't take it. He leaned in and kissed Daniel again, holding him close. Daniel was still hard. God, the memory of having to do that -- to carry out such an intense act, so coldly, with none of the intimacy or meaning sex was supposed to have.

Jack shuddered, and moved away from the kiss, but gathered Daniel in against him, rolling to his shoulder. Daniel came willingly, lying there against him. They held each other, feeling the full-body warmth that they had gone to every length to avoid earlier. From arm's-length to up-close, so fast. It made Jack's head spin a little. Or maybe that was the hangover.

"Maybe we should get up now, make that coffee," he said.

"Sounds good," Daniel said, and his voice sounded carefully polite.

They moved slowly. Daniel pissed, and brushed his teeth with a spare toothbrush he found under the sink. He didn't close the bathroom door, Jack noticed. Jack went out to the kitchen to start the coffee. When it was brewing, he drank about a quart of water from the cold bottle in the refrigerator. Then he leaned on the counter, watching the coffee drip. Relief. Disbelief. He sighed.

Daniel came through the kitchen door, hesitated, and walked up to Jack, eying him a little sidelong. He put a hand on Jack's shoulder, then let it slide off. Jack thought his gaze didn't look distant and wounded, like he had on the planet. Daniel looked awake, interested, and as amazed as Jack felt.

They drank the coffee black, standing up, leaning their butts on the counter, side by side.

"Where do we go from here," Daniel said.

"I don't know," Jack said. "But I don't want you off the team, and I don't want you to brood about this, and I could never hate you."

"It's a start," Daniel said, and smiled at him, that surprising, rare bright smile. It made the corner of Jack's mouth quirk. He turned back to his coffee.

"Or something," Jack said.

end


End file.
